


Portrait of an intimate moment

by fennishjournal (Shimi)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Queer Het, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shimi/pseuds/fennishjournal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Ichabod was breathing deeply, his whole ribcage expanding and contracting, his mouth slightly open as though he wasn't getting quite enough air. At her touch he startled briefly and she could almost see, for a moment, the way he was drifting right now between memory and sensation – Washington's tent, his own marital bed, the here and now of a cabin in the future – his body and mind anchored in an inner state rather than a time and place.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Portrait of an intimate moment

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt:
> 
> _Sleepy Hollow (TV), Abbie Mills/Ichabod Crane, pegging, itch, candles, trust_

The light of the candles seemed to deepen the room, throwing live shadows and smoothing edges with every new flame she lit, until the scene before her might have been cut out of a Flemish painting.

Ichabod Crane, kneeling on a bedstead that might have stood in any American cabin in the last two hundred years, eyes closed and face flushed as he slowly settled back on his haunches and then stretched out his arms and upper body before him, taking a hold of the mattress edge.

“Young man about to be pegged”, by Vermeer. Abbie smiled at the thought.

She stepped closer and ran a hand from the dark tangle of hair at the nape of his neck down to the curve of his ass, the sweaty heat of his skin a sharp contrast to the timelessness and abstract beauty of the candlelight on him.

Ichabod was breathing deeply, his whole ribcage expanding and contracting, his mouth slightly open as though he wasn't getting quite enough air. At her touch he startled briefly and she could almost see, for a moment, the way he was drifting right now between memory and sensation – Washington's tent, his own marital bed, the here and now of a cabin in the future – his body and mind anchored in an inner state rather than a time and place.

Her cock felt slightly heavy in its harness, centering her where it pressed against her clit, a tangible reminder of her own balance point. Arousal was spreading through her in hot waves.

She climbed up onto the bed and Ichabod sighed deeply, his body relaxing into the position as she settled herself behind him. She ran two hands down his sides and then pulled his ass up slightly, so the tip of her cock nudged his entrance. He followed her movements gracefully, as attuned to her body as when he had lead her through a period dance the other day.

He was slick and open already, having preferred to prepare himself without her watching. He was offering himself to her like a gift, ready for the taking, and she had no doubt that this was how things had been with Katrina, too, and with Washington, probably. She felt deeply moved by his trust, felt herself a link in a chain, anchoring Ichabod to past, present and future.

Trust. Lead. Trust. Follow. This was their dance. She had danced it before and so had he but her heart was still racing as she leaned forward and began to press in slow, slow, so slowly. Apart from anything else the sight of him stretched out and arched like a bow was shatteringly erotic.

The little sighing exhalation he made as she slipped in almost got lost as a wind started up around the cabin, hurling itself against the windows and doors as she worked her cock more and more deeply inside him. But then she lifted herself up slightly, changing the angle as she dragged her cock out again and Ichabod's hiss was clearly audible this time, his body tensing against her in pleasure, as if she was scratching an itch deep inside him. 

She settled into a steady, deep rhythm and before long he began to move with her, meeting her thrusts with little, abortive movements of his hips, his fingers still curled into the mattress. Every time she snapped her hips forward, the cock ground against her clit in a way that was not quite satisfying but drove her arousal up, up, up each time until she felt hot, felt lost in her own rhythm, swimming in shadows.

But then Ichabod, who had been almost silent until now, groaned loudly and without thinking she moved to cover his body with her own, her breasts pressing against his back. 

“Abbie,” he whispered hoarsely. 

“Yes.” She dragged her tongue over the edge of his shoulder-blade, holding him tight.

“Abbie, please, I need – ” he broke off, his body twisting beneath her as he gasped in frustration.

“What do you need? Tell me.” She pressed her forehead against his back, pressing herself to him, holding on tight, wanting to be impossibly closer.

“You face, please, I want to see your face.” He sounded wrecked, desperate and she wanted to press into him, worm her way underneath his skin, deep inside him. 

Instead, she moved back, carefully withdrawing from his body – he gasped as her cock slid out completely – and waited for him to turn around, pressing her thighs together. She felt slick and swollen, well on her own way to desperate, as she watched Ichabod arrange himself on his back with his knees bent.

He wrapped his legs around her as she entered him again and his eyes seemed to fasten onto hers in a way that was almost hypnotic. She resumed fucking him, dipping down now and again for a wet, open-mouthed kiss, but he never closed his eyes and his gaze never left hers.

She was getting close now, getting to the point where it felt as if she was almost coming just from the friction of fucking into him and then she saw his eyes widen suddenly and knew he was nearly there, too.

She leaned down, his stubble prickling against her cheek as she whispered directly into his ear: “Touch yourself.”

She felt him fumble for his cock, a hard length against her stomach, and when she started thrusting again, his eyes were closed as his hand began to move frantically.

“I'm, I – ” There were hectic red spots on his face and neck now and she could feel herself spiral higher and higher, almost there, almost, almost, little desperate sounds breaking from the back of her throat.

And then Ichabod's body seized up, his eyes flying open as he shook himself apart underneath her, spurting hotly between them.

She stilled, waiting for the shivers and little moans to stop, waiting for him to release her from his gaze. At last he closed his eyes and breathed out deeply through his nose. When he opened them again, the trust was still there but the painful vulnerability was gone and she leaned down for a kiss that was filthy and rough.

“I'm going to pull out now and then I need you to fuck me hard,” she whispered against his lips and she could feel him smile. 

“As you wish,” he murmured.

She tried to be slow and gentle but she was so close now and she just wanted the damn thing off and – yes, yes, just like this – she wanted his fingers inside her as she rode his hand hard, fucking herself down onto that delicious pressure as she felt her own orgasm build and build.

“Yes,” she hissed between clenched teeth, “yes, yes, yes!” And there it was, the pleasure peaking rough and hot inside her, her body clenching down hard around his fingers as she rode out wave after wave.

He withdrew his hand and held her close as she collapsed onto his chest feeling light and much too open. She clung back and for several minutes they just lay there, their breathing slowly evening out, their bodies beginning to stick together, his heartbeat a comforting thudding in her ear.


End file.
